


Of Sleep, Alcohol, and Apologies

by HolmesianDeduction (orphan_account)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: After fighting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual Character, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 01:22:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/HolmesianDeduction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a particularly vicious argument, Grantaire goes out for the night but returns to find Enjolras' flat still open to him, and discovers Enjolras' own particular way of coping with the aftermath of a fight.</p><p>(A short prompt fill in response to a request for something "hopeful and a bit sweet.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Sleep, Alcohol, and Apologies

             In his experience, most people looked younger than their age when they slept, but then again, Enjolras never did quite play by the same rules as everyone else.  He wasn’t sure what he had expected when he stormed out of the flat, Enjolras’ parting barbs launching themselves at his back - certainly he hadn’t expected the other man to come after him.  In fact, if he was honest with himself - and he always was, at least after a few drinks - he had fully expected to come back to a locked door and his number blocked.  Instead, the door had been unlocked, the flat silent and seemingly abandoned, but upon investigation, Grantaire had found Enjolras passed out on his bed, paperwork and books strewn around  him, a computer humming faintly from a desk.

             Leaning back against the window sill closest to the bed, Grantaire took another pull from the beer he had taken from the fridge prior to searching the flat, and tilting his head, watched Enjolras’ sleeping form.  Awake, Enjolras had always looked young for his age - incredibly so, though no one dared to point it out, and Grantaire had always assumed that the effect would be doubled should he be seen in slumber.  Yet in the dim light of early morning that slipped through the blinds, Enjolras sleeping and relaxed, with his eyes closed and hair only haphazardly pushed back from his face, finally looked his age, if not a little bit older.

             However, with the severity of his usual expression melted away by sleep, Grantaire became aware of tiny imperfections in Enjolras’ features - minute, barely visible lines around his mouth and eyes, and the faintest of furrows in his brow.  Even in his sleep, his expression was solemn, but for once, it was almost peaceful, and something in the pit of Grantaire’s stomach unknotted itself, sending the remainders of his irritation drifting from his shoulders as, tilting his head, he slipped from the window to kneel by the side of the bed.  As he did so, Enjolras shifted in his sleep, and his lips, usually pressed together in concentration or irritation, twitched into a half-smile; it took all of Grantaire’s flagging willpower to not reach out and touch him, to trace the minuscule lines and curl his palm around the line of his jaw.

             Rocking back on his heels slightly, Grantaire retrieved his beer from the floor behind him and set it up on the desk before carefully shifting small piles of paperwork and books to the floor.  Then, having cleared a suitable space, he rose to his feet and gingerly slipped up onto the bed next to Enjolras, holding his breath as he did so - the fear of waking the other man still stronger than the roar of the alcohol in his bloodstream.  He watched him for a few moments, and then, against his better judgement, acted almost entirely on impulse.

             Propping himself up on his elbow, Grantaire leaned closer and pressed his lips to the crook of where Enjolras’ jaw met his ear, then continued along his jaw, stopping just short of his lips.  It was at that moment that Enjolras opened his eyes, and for a moment, Grantaire held his breath as the brief confusion of waking gave way to irritation on the other’s features, but then his lips pursed and the familiar expression returned - at least in part.  As Grantaire exhaled a sigh of relief, Enjolras narrowed his eyes.  “You’re  _drunk_.”

             By way of response, Grantaire pulled back, offering half of a shrug and a small, crooked smile, but made no move to speak.  Leaning on an arm, Enjolras rubbed his temple for a moment, then: “I hope you’re not expecting an apology.”

             Grantaire raised an eyebrow.  “Did I ask for one?”

             Enjolras watched him for a moment, but then settled back down and allowed Grantaire closer again.  “I take it you’re not going to apologise either?”

             Making a soft noise, Grantaire settled against the other’s body before replying, his breath warm against Enjolras’ exposed collarbone and the corner of his mouth twitching into a smirk.  “When do I ever?”


End file.
